


Exxon

by jostxnneil



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 19:45:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8813914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jostxnneil/pseuds/jostxnneil
Summary: Drabble request based on the prompt "Slushies aren't just for kids, fuck society." on tumblr.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my tumblr for @conniptionns. I don't own tfc.

Midterms, while not nearly as agonizingly awful as finals, still left Neil feeling like he’d been run over. It was just more like he’d been hit by a small car instead of a semi truck.  
He’d barely slept all week, between studying and practice. And Andrew, although that was less Andrew’s fault and more Neil’s, because Neil had a tendency to use Andrew as a distraction or an excuse to procrastinate.  
If he’s honest with himself, Andrew’s probably the only reason he’s not failing all of his classes, because when he catches on to what Neil’s doing, he sighs and makes Neil sit down at his desk to study and do his homework. He’s also reluctantly taken responsibility for editing all of Neil’s essays, because Neil’s kind of a shit writer.  
By the end of the week and his last midterm, he’s been running on coffee and even a few of Andrew’s disgustingly sugary sports drinks to stay awake. If he was normal, he’d just be a little more jittery than usual.  
But he’s not, so the combination of coffee, sugar, and barely any sleep leaves him jumpy, irritable, and itching in his own skin. He’d tried to crash after his last midterm only to wake up ten minutes later from one of the worst nightmares he’s had in months. Andrew had to hold onto the back of his neck with a bruising grip and talk at him without touching him anywhere else while he had a panic attack–then he’d gotten dragged up to the roof for a cigarette that he took several drags of until the shaking in his fingers stopped.  
They didn’t have a game this weekend, so when Andrew’s critical once-over had resulted in him throwing a bunch of their clothes together into a duffel and grabbing the car keys, Neil didn’t protest. He knew he needed to get away for a bit.  
Neil didn’t ask where they were going, and Andrew didn’t tell him. He might not have even had a destination in mind. So they just drove, for hours, until Neil finally felt himself relax enough to fall asleep, eyes fluttering shut after the scenery passing outside his window turned unfamiliar.  
He flinches awake hours later to the feeling of Andrew’s eyes on him. When he blinks himself into awareness, he notices several things: it’s dark outside, but the inside of the car is lit up by the neon signs of the shitty 24/7 gas station/convenience store they’re in the parking lot of. And even though he’s awake and lucid, Andrew’s still staring at him, leaning back against his door with one arm crossed over his chest and the other holding a lit cigarette. The window is cracked to let the smoke escape.  
“Andrew.” He doesn’t say anything else for a space that stretches into feeling longer than it actually is. Sometimes his words don’t come easily after bad weeks–Andrew knows this. He’s patient.  
Neil settles on, “Where are we?”  
Andrew shrugs. “Some shitty small town in North Carolina.” He pauses to shake ash out the window. “There’s a motel. It’s not the best, but it’s not the worst, either.”  
Neil hums an acknowledgement, but he’s not really thinking about the motel.  
This isn’t the first time they’ve ended up in a town like this, parked under the harsh lights of a gas station late at night. It’s become something of a habit for them–when Neil starts feeling an itch in his feet, or Andrew gets fed up with the Foxes, they’ll pack a bag and take off with only a general idea of where they’re going. Most of those trips end similarly–junk food, motel, and communication more in the form of looks than actual words.  
There are always moments, in the quiet sense of being away–when the unrealized tension of being constantly surrounded by people in some way or another fades and breathing between the two of them becomes easier–where Neil will be struck by Andrew in some way or another. They make time to be together, in an unconscious, instinctual way, but when they have the opportunity to be alone in each other’s company after a long stretch with minimal time to themselves, Neil always realizes that they never have as much time as he thinks. They might be constantly together, but they’re so often in the company of other people that they drift slightly apart in those accompanied moments.  
The light of the neon flatters Andrew. The edges of his face–cheekbones, jaw, nose–are cast in a way that illuminates their sharpness. With his black clothes, ever-present armbands hiding blades that match his cutting appearance, the cigarette hanging from his lips, glowing orange, and his blonde hair falling across his forehead, he looks like some sort of avenging angel, carrying out a bloody, violent sort of justice.  
Or perhaps a demon, come to make a deal.  
“Staring,” Andrew drawls, and Neil smirks.  
“If you’re gonna complain about it, you should stop initiating it,” he says, and looks back towards the store. “Any particular reason we’re here?”  
Andrew narrows his eyes, but ultimately chooses to ignore Neil’s first statement. “I just drove for five hours because you’re an idiot that doesn’t know his own limits. I want ice cream and all of the sugary food that Kevin constantly bitches about me eating–and you’re not going to channel his spirit and complain about it, because, as previously stated, you’re an idiot.”  
Neil doesn’t deny that he’s an idiot. He kind of is–he should have known better than to have as much caffeine as he did. “Let’s go, then, so we can get to the motel. You’re probably tired after driving for as long as you have.”  
Andrew glares, but he doesn’t deny it either. The bags under his eyes would be proof that he’s lying, and he isn’t a liar when it comes to Neil.  
They go inside after Andrew finishes his cigarette, and Neil doesn’t pay too much attention to the junk food Andrew fills their shopping basket with. He wanders to the back of the store to grab them water bottles and a couple of energy drinks–those are solely for Andrew, he’s not going near them for a long time, if he can help it–and when he wanders back, he’s met by the sight of Andrew holding a massive cup.  
“Is that a slushie?” Andrew’s impassive glance answers well enough. “I’ve only ever seen kids drink slushies.”  
That provokes a glare.  
“Slushies aren’t just for kids. Fuck society.” Andrew takes an angry sip of slushie through his straw, which is impressive, and then adds, with another glare, “Fuck you too.”  
“Yeah, yeah. The sugar in that is going to give you a heart attack.” Andrew’s fingers twitch in warning, letting Neil know that he’s verging into Kevin-complaint territory, and he starts walking towards the register, glancing at the cup’s clear plastic lid. “What flavor is it?”  
Andrew very obviously considers ignoring him, but replies after another long sip, “All of them.”  
Neil opens his mouth–then closes it, knowing that whatever he says will probably just result in yet another glare.  
Somehow, despite the cup being bigger than Andrew’s head, he manages to finish it in the few miles between the gas station and the motel. Neil eats a power bar, stomach still uneasy from the nightmare and subsequent panic attack earlier in the day.  
The motel only has rooms with single beds, so they get a king to reduce the chance of accidentally rolling into each other during the night. They’ve gotten to the point where Andrew can sometimes sleep with him on his dorm bed, but only on the better nights, and they’ve still had a few incidents. With both of them on edge, they know better than to risk it.  
Neil takes a shower–another post-panic habit, as if he can scrub the memories off of his skin–while Andrew eats the pint of ice cream he bought in one sitting, lounging on the bed. He comes out in boxers and an old t-shirt, hair damp, and digs his phone out of the pocket of his jeans to power it on and check his messages.  
The team’s mostly used to them taking off without warning, but he still has a few texts–Matt and Nicky, mostly. He replies just enough to reassure them that he’s alive, because for some reason they worry about that, and then plugs his phone in to charge, leaving it on the bedside table.  
He’s feeling more alert after sleeping in the car, but exhaustion still weighs his bones down, and settling onto his side of the surprisingly comfortable bed is incredibly soothing after his long day.  
Then he looks up and notices Andrew, rejuvenated from the sugar, gazing at him with a familiar intensity, eyes dark.  
“Yes or no?” he asks, and the electricity that races down Neil’s spine wakes him up in an instant.  
His lips form the word automatically–he says “Yes,” and Andrew kisses him.  
They don’t sleep for awhile.


End file.
